The Tale Approved By A Genius And A Liar
by Ram Jas
Summary: When Aminta Kristine and her life's events get placed into the story of Phantom of the Opera, with her as Christine, what kind of madness, and embarassment, will ensue!


"She likes ye, you know." I looked from Gertrude, to Raoul, and back to Gertrude, realizing that this wasn't just some sick dream that I was having.

"Oh good Lord," I muttered unladylike into my handkerchief. Raoul looked absolutely uncomfortable. His mother smiled awkwardly, and Gertrude grinned like she was doing something helpful.

"Well, isn't that nice," Mrs. De Chagny said, drinking more tea, and not really realizing what was going on in the conversation, bless her heart.

"Do ye like 'er?" she asked Raoul. He had started to sweat, and his face was red. His teacup was poised half way to his mouth. He cleared his throat. "Well, yes, I do, I mean, as a, ah, friend," he stammered out, sweating all the more. My heart fell to my stomach. Gertrude turned to me. "Do ye like 'im?" My face by that time had no doubt turned a rather lovely shade of red. I could feel the heat rising off my cheeks into the cool parlor.

"You know, we really don't have to be talking about this right now," I managed to say while I'm sure I looked quite shocked.

"Yes, especially with everyone here," Raoul said, referring to his mother and my friend, referring to the fact that it was between us, and no one else. I sighed in relief. Talk went on for a few minutes longer, however awkward. After a while, I figured I'd been embarrassed enough.

"Well, it really is getting late. I must be going. Come along, Gertrude; show me to the door, won't you?" I said, even though it was only two in the afternoon. By then, Raoul had excused himself and gone out to do something, most likely to get away from me and my stupid feelings. We had the beginning of a lovely friendship, and I didn't want to ruin it with my feelings for him, so I hid them away, telling only Gertrude, one of the de Chagny's maids, and my best friend, of my feelings for Raoul. She could be rather daft at times, but I always forgave her, and life went on. I politely exchanged hugs and kisses with the Mrs. De Chagny, and had Gertrude take me to the front door. As we were at the door, I looked around for signs of anyone. There was no one, so I quickly slapped the back of Gertrude's head, no doubt killing the last few brain cells she had left.

"Why'd ye do tha' foor?" she asked, rubbing the back of her head.

"What do you think that was for, you fool! Why did you tell him that!" I said. She had the capacity to think; she really did, but she never used her brain. Just her vile tongue.

"Ye guys don't talk enou''. If I hadn't said anythin', then ye wouldn't 'ave said anythin' at all, and 'e would've left foor war wi' nothin' t' remember ye by." I hung my head, and tried not to think about him leaving. He would be leaving for war in three days. I'd wanted to tell him of my feelings, but I knew it was too soon.

"If it's any conciliation, I'll probably never see him again, and he'll never think of me in those terms, anyway, you daft loony. This has just made things awkward, and I'll never be able to talk to him again. I'll see you later, I suppose. I'll be here tomorrow for his goodbye party. Fare thee well." I went out the door with my heart in my shoes and a knife in the middle of my forehead.

I arrived home to greet my mother with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"So how is Raoul doing, my dear?"

"He's doing well, I suppose. He had to leave early for something or other, so I chatted with his mother for a while, and soon left. I grow weary by the minute, mother. I'm going to lie down. My head aches," I said, giving myself an excuse to go upstairs to my room in the meager attic

"Alright darling. I'm on my way out, so take care."

"I love you, maman," I said, giving her a warm hug. "Do you have a new job, then?" I asked, referring to her job as an architect. She was one of the most renowned in the country at that time, but as she was a woman, she went back and forth as "Philippe Macintoch"'s personal assistant that took care of all affairs and talked in between clients and Macintosh. No one had caught onto her yet, and we were thriving rather well. We were currently staying in a small house on the beach in England on vacation. Even vacation didn't keep her from her work. Nothing kept her from working. Not even when my father had left us when I was younger. That had just inspired her even more. I was only six when he left and thus had very few memories of him. What I did remember was a loving father that had cared for me and loved me, and when I'd get a cut or a scrape, he'd kiss it and 'make it all better'. Perhaps that was what I'd just fabricated in my mind, but it made me feel secure in my lifestyle. In my mind, he hadn't left; he'd died, because to me, he was dead. The father that I'd once remembered and once loved was now dead, and in its place was a monster that had mistreated both my mother and me. I am now glad that he left, so I have mostly happy memories, and not such sad things to dwell upon.

"We have some new clients, my cherie patite. The maharajah wants me to design a new building for him in China! Isn't that just wonderful? I'll be away for a while, but I promise to keep in touch. Wish me luck!" she said hugging me back. "I love you."

"I love you too, maman. Take care of yourself!" I said, waving out the door. She was gone for but a week before I received the telegram, but I thought nothing of it beforehand. She was often gone for months before coming home from business.

The next day, I went to Raoul's farewell party, and had naught a chance to talk to him. I stayed till the very end, even when people had already left. The cabby that was to take him to the station was due any minute, and I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Kristine." It was whispered by the voice that often was heard in my dreams. I turned to find Raoul, and looked sadly into his eyes before tears were brimming over my lashes. I felt his strong arms go around me. I silently wept into his arms, not being able to withstand the force of them. "Do not waste your tears upon me, Kristine. I'll be back soon, no doubt of it, Little Lotte," he said, pulling away and wiping the tears from my cheeks. 'No doubt of it, Little Lotte', that's what he always said. Whether it was a race, or a depressing moment, it was always positive, no doubt of it to Raoul. I smiled through my tears and looked up at his face, despite my embarrassment over yesterday's exchange of events. First I'd lose my heart to him, and now I'd lose him. It was almost too much to bear, but I held back my tears just for him.

"Raoul, I'm sorry about yesterday. I realize that y-"

"I've been wanting to talk to you all day about it, but was held off by others so many times. I have something very important to tell you. Oh Kristine, I don't-" I would never hear the words he was to say for then, his father patted him on the back and interrupted

"Your ride's here son. I'm so proud of you." He grinned at his father and smiled apologetically at me. I swallowed, hoping, begging, praying that he'd finish what he was going to say. However, that moment was ruined, and was never to pass.

"Raoul-"

"I'll finish this when I get back. That's a promise." He cupped my cheek in his hand and placed a kiss to the side of my mouth before leaving. I never heard from him again.

A week passed by, and I received a telegram from China baring news that would once again change my life.

_Dear Mademoiselle Daae:_

_I regret to inform you that your mother has been killed in an accident during an uprising and murder of the maharajah. According to her will, she has placed all possessions into your care, and you into your great aunt's care. However, your great aunt has passed on in the past week, and in instruction in your mother's will, you've been placed in the care of Madam Antoinette Giry at the Opera house. You will be picked up to leave in three day's time. I formally send my condolences._

_Sincerely,_

_James Lockheart, Attorney at Law_

James was my mother's lawyer, and as I was underage, I was to be placed into the care of a suitable guardian in case the guardian of choice was either dead, or incapable. Thankfully, my mother had thought of this, and as I had no other living relatives, she chose Madam Giry, an old etiquette school room-mate. I had heard all kinds of wonderful stories throughout the years about her, and was excited to meet her. I went right away to pack my bags when it hit me what I'd read. My mother was dead. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I ran back to the note, and reread. As I tried to reread it for the fourth time, the page was blurred, and I could read no longer.

The memorial was held five days later, at a cemetery a few miles from the opera house. Madam Giry proved to be rather polite, but was also rather quiet, and to herself. She had a daughter, Meg Giry, who was but a few months older than me. We quickly became close friends, like sisters. As the years progressed, the image of my mother faded from my mind, as did my father's as I threw myself into dancing.

Meg was well on her way to becoming the prima ballerina, while I was just mediocre. I was never good at dancing. My real passion was singing. From an early age, my mother would sing to me, until one day, at the age of three, I asked her how to sing. Ever since then, she'd been teaching me to sing. She had been a chorus girl previously in her years, and she'd also played piano.

Living at the Opera House, I missed our lessons, remembering all the good times we'd had. I soon found that pulling myself away from the feelings and the memories of my mother made the pain go away. She soon dissipated from my mind. For months, I ate, slept, and breathed dance. I didn't have a thought of my mother until one night, I had a strange dream. There was piano music. As it filtered through my mind, I realized it was a song my mother often used to play for me as a small child when I'd cry at night for my father. She'd start to sing Greensleeves as she'd slowly make her way to the piano in the center of the room. She softly play until I fell back asleep.

"Maman," I cried, knowing she'd not be there to soothe my fears. A voice sang. It was not my mother's. It was a man's voice. I trembled, knowing fully aware of what some men did to get women into their beds. The voice sang on, but no body was there for it to come from. I slowly felt myself drift back into sleep, peacefully and without a fight. For the next few nights, I had the same dream, that I fitfully woke up and had someone play for me and sing to me. Mother had always said that someday, if something happened to her, he'd send me a guardian angel to take care of me and to comfort me when she couldn't be there. 'This must be the angel,' I thought. 'But I can't be sure. I should ask.' Now, I'd always been rather odd when I was half in my subconscious state, but thinking about this the morning after, I worried for myself.

"Are you my guardian angel?" I asked into the darkness. There was no reply. The singing and the piano playing continued. Surely this was my guardian angel. Who else could he be? A memory suddenly came back to me. Raoul, Mother, and I were all sitting by the fire sipping hot cocoa while Mother told a story. I was about ten and Raoul was thirteen. There was something about an Angel of Music coming to people to comfort them when they had no one else.

"Oh! You are the Angel of Music. I humbly thank you for your visit, kind angel. I'll go to sleep now, if that is what you wish."

"Yes, sleep child." The voice was like music itself, even when it was not singing. It warmed my soul, and I burrowed under the covers and closed my eyes. The next night, the voice was there again, only it was not singing.

"Arise, my child, for the Angel of Music is here to guide you." My eyes opened and I looked around. I lighted a candle and searched again, finding nothing. There were brief chuckles heard from everywhere yet nowhere, all at once. I gave up, and stood straight and tall, deciding to face the mirror, at least seeing myself rather than nothing.

"Yes, angel? What are you to guide me with?"

"I am your angel of music; sing for me angel of music!" I went into a sort of trance, and that's how it went, night after night, for three years. He taught me to sing. I used muscles that I never knew were used in singing. I learned, and on the morning Hannibal debuted, he spoke to me, not with direction or critiquing, but with pride.

"You're ready." I heard a swish from somewhere, and he was gone. I looked at the time. It was time for the very last dress rehearsal. I readied myself, and quickly put on costumes and makeup with Meg. We were practicing our slave dance when I heard a voice that I knew from somewhere. It was similar, yet different than what I knew. My head whipped around, and I crashed into Meg.

"Kristine!" she said. Thankfully, it was the end of the scene, and all I earned was a glare from Madam Giry. I hadn't even noticed it, for there he was, Raoul. He looked older, his features more chiseled. His voice was deeper; a rich tenor that made butterflies flutter around in my stomach.

"I am much honored to support all the arts, especially those of the renowned Opera Populaire." Everyone clapped, excluding myself. I stood there, frozen to the spot. _Would he take notice me? Would he remember me?_ Meg spoke.

"Oh, Kristine! Is that him? Oh, he is absolutely gorgeous!" I nodded as she dragged me to the entrance of the stage, where she figured he'd exit. He walked right past, not even glancing at me.

"He doesn't remember. I didn't think he would."

"Kristine, he just didn't see!" I knew she was just trying to make me feel better, but it made it worse. He didn't see. No one saw me, and no one ever would. I finished the rehearsal numbly, throwing every ounce of energy and passion into my singing and dancing. Meg later told me that the new managers had complimented on my singing abilities and my 'grace' and 'beauty', but I figured she was just trying to lighten the mood. That would not work, for I was trapped far too deeply into my dismal soul for anyone to recognize me now.


End file.
